


Sandwich!Sam

by poD7et



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Humor, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, filthy!cas, sandwich!sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poD7et/pseuds/poD7et
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sam tried to make a sandwich and the one time he didn't need to.</p><p>All Sam wanted was a sandwich. But apparently the kitchen was reserved for the night . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandwich!Sam

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a tumblr post that I promptly lost. I'm not so good at the tumblr.
> 
> FOUND IT!!!  
> http://casdcan.tumblr.com/post/68127918642/what-am-i-even-doing
> 
> Again, sorry for the weird humor. This is the only way my brain works.

**I.**

All Sam wanted was a sandwich. But apparently the kitchen was reserved for the night.

He couldn’t say he was _surprised_ when he caught his brother and Castiel in what can only be described as a “compromising position." After all, it was bound to happen sooner or later and quite frankly, Sam was shocked it didn’t happen sooner. Because the way the two of them stared longingly into each other’s eyes was enough to make Sam want to hurl.

But Dean was his brother. And it’s not like the two of them chose to fall in love any more than Sam chose to be Dean’s brother. Although, the two of them did choose to have sex in the kitchen. But Sam's got a big heart and he was willing to let it slide . . . this time. Because when it came down to it, he was genuinely happy for them. Although he wished they would show their affection for each other somewhere a little more private. It was a big bunker-- hell, they even had a dungeon. So why did it have to be the kitchen?

The next day, Sam disinfected every nook and cranny of the room, but unfortunately he would never be able to wash away the image he had of his brother, an angel, and that poor pie.

* * *

  **II.**

Sometimes Sam was grateful that Cas and Dean seemed to give roughly zero fucks about who heard or saw them having sex. Until recently, his brother was so far in the closet he didn’t even realize coming out of it was an option. Actually, Sam wasn’t sure Dean even knew he was in a closet. So, Sam was happy that Dean was finally becoming more comfortable with himself. Although, some would argue he was becoming a bit _too_ comfortable.

The cacophony he and Cas made while screwing was the auditory equivalent of approximately several hundred flashing neon signs that read, “ATTENTION EVERYONE: We are having sex right now and it’s awesome!”

Sam always complained about the noise, but he had to admit he was thankful. On more than one occasion the sound of their grunts and groans wafting down the hall saved him from walking in on some potentially awkward moments.

Today, the daring duo were having another one of their marathon sessions. Sam was convinced they were either masters of tantric sex or else Cas was using his angelic mojo for some absolutely devilish purposes. And if he were a betting man, Sam would put his money on the latter.

But for now, Sam didn’t want to gamble; he just wanted to eat a damn sandwich. Instead he was subjected to over an hour of kitchenware being knocked about, screams of his brother’s name, screams from his brother, some very heavy breathing, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the squelch of too much lube, and some other sounds too awful to name.

When at last Sam heard what he could only assume were the throes of ecstasy followed by blissful silence, he ventured into the kitchen. Sam opened the refrigerator and grabbed bread, meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and . . . lube?

“DEAN!”

Needless to say, Sam lost his appetite. 

* * *

  **III.**

Enough was enough. Sam was hungry. He was hungry now and the honeymoon? Yeah, the honeymoon was over.

“HEY SAM!” Sam shouted.

“YES, SAM?” he answered himself.

“KNOW WHAT?”

“WHAT?”

“I’M HUNGRY.”

“OH ME TOO! I COULD REALLY GO FOR A SANDWICH. AND YOU KNOW WHERE THE BEST PLACE TO MAKE A SANDWICH IS, SAM?”

“WHERE COULD THAT BE, SAM?”

“WHY THE KITCHEN, OF COURSE!”

“OH YES! THE KITCHEN.”

“I AM GOING TO GO INTO THE **KITCHEN** TO MAKE A SANDWICH. I SURE HOPE THAT MY DEAREST DARLING BROTHER DEAN AND HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL CASTIEL AREN’T NAKED AND HAVING SEX ON THE **KITCHEN** COUNTERTOP AGAIN! THAT SURE WOULD BE WEIRD, RIGHT SAM?”

“THAT WOULD BE WEIRD, SAM. LET’S HOPE THEY ARE HAVING SEX IN A BEDROOM WITH A LOCKED DOOR LIKE MOST NORMAL PEOPLE DO.”

The noises from inside the kitchen came to an abrupt halt. Sam closed his eyes and slowly counted to twenty. He stepped into the kitchen and opened one eye, then the other. He was relieved that Dean and Cas were able to take the hint. He was happy to finally be able to use the kitchen. Sure there were all manner of shirts and pants and . . . well, Sam really didn’t really know what that was. Actually he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know _anyway_. All he wanted was to not see or hear Cas or Dean anywhere.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and then pulled the handle on the refrigerator, but it wouldn’t open.

He pulled a little harder, but it still wouldn’t budge.

Upon closer investigation, Sam saw a pair of handcuffs licking the doors to the refrigerator and freezer shut.

“God, if you’re out there, just tell me one thing.” Sam prayed, “Why do you hate me?”

Then as if on cue, Castiel appeared wearing nothing but a chef’s hat and-- since when did we have kevlar vests? Cas smiled sheepishly before he grabbed the cuffs and zapped out.

Sam left too. He worked on trying to convince himself that tonight he was in the mood for take-out.

* * *

**IV.**

Sam sat down at the table in the bunker’s war room. He heard the all too familiar sound of Dean and Cas partaking in their freakish sex life. He was starting to come to terms with the fact that he might never be able to make a sandwich in the bunker’s kitchen ever again. So he was glad that he had the foresight to pick up some food from the new quick-serve salad place on the way home.

He set his bag down on the table and pulled out one container with lettuce and veggies and another with dressing. He reached back in and came out with a fist full of napkins. He groped the empty bag again. He turned it upside down and inside out. No fork. No spoon. Nothing. This was unacceptable.

Sam wasn’t going to chance trip to the kitchen. God gave him two hands, so he figured he should use them.

 

* * *

  **V.**

Sam made a mental notes of the little flirtations he saw between his brother and Cas. Dean was a flirt, he always was. If he was working on one of the Men of Letters cars and Cas came by, he’d be sure to “accidentally” drop something. Then he’d bend over from the waist real slow to pick it up. If he was feeling particularly fiendish, he’d throw in a suggestive wink. Then Sam would see Cas’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips. It was a nice tongue too. Not that Sam was looking or anything. And it wasn’t just Dean with his mind in the gutter. No one else would ever believe him, but Castiel could be pretty damn sassy too. He played innocent, but the filth that came out of that mouth sometimes . . . It was definitely intentional.

Really, when it came down to it, Dean was the sweet one in the relationship. Sam would catch him giving Cas neck rubs which turned into “very manly claps on the shoulder” as soon as he noticed someone else was in the room. This act would be followed by Cas saying something like, “Thank you, Dean. But I- I’m still feeling a bit _stiff_ , so I think I’ll go lie down.” And there was absolutely no way there was any naivete behind those words. Next, sassy Cas would fly off and Dean would get up and go search for his angel with a stupid shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Right now though, Sam had the bunker all to himself. Dean and Cas were out somewhere “on a case” which was more likely a trip to some seedy bar because every time Cas and Dean went “on a case” without Sam, Dean would return to the bunker properly shit-faced. Sam didn’t mind though. It meant he would be able to enjoy a few hours of quiet. Best of all it meant he was going to be able to enjoy using the fucking kitchen without seeing anyone fucking.

He entered without bothering to turn on the light. He knew exactly where everything he needed was. He knew that when he opened the door, the brilliant refrigerator light would illuminate anything else he needed to see.

Sam grabbed the door handle and pulled. He was bathed in the angelic glow of beer and midnight snacks. He listened to the dull hum of the cooling system. He listened to the low fizzle of the light bulb. He listened to the sharp intake of breath? Sam closed his eyes. Just one sandwich. That’s all he wanted.

“Really?” he asked without turning around.

The light in the fridge burned steadily brighter before it burst. There were stifled giggles.

Not tonight, Sam resolved. Tonight, he wasn’t leaving the kitchen without a sandwich. Sam walked back to the entrance and turned on the kitchen light. He ignored Dean and Cas huddled under the counter. Sam opened the fridge again and he made himself a sandwich. No, not just any sandwich. It was a fucking work of art.

He took his plate and began to march out of the kitchen. He ignored his brother lying on top of Cas who was bent over in a way that was clearly inhuman.

“Sammy,” Dean slurred. “Looks a‘licious. Think you could fix me a sammich too?”

Sam spun on his heels.

“Dude, you can’t be serious!”

“Hehehehe. SAM-wich.” Dean chuckled.

“Fine. Just-- just take it!”

Sam set the plate down on the nearest countertop-- hard. Then huffed his way out of the room.

* * *

**BANG BANG BANG**

Someone was knocking on his door.

**BANG BANG BANG**

Sam squinted at his alarm clock. Slowly the red lights morphed into numbers.

03:10 AM

This had better be an emergency.

**BANG BANG BANG**

“I’M COMING.” he shouted and then grumbled something incoherent under his breath as he pulled on a pair of pants.

He groped for the door handle and pulled it open. No one. There was no one there. If this was another one of Dean’s pranks, Sam was going to beat the ever-loving sh--

That’s when he noticed a small table on the other side of his bedroom door. On it was a silver serving platter with a lid. He cautiously lifted it and saw a pile of sandwiches and two handwritten notes.

> The first read:
> 
> Sammy,
> 
> Sorry about earlier. We made you some sandwiches to make up for the one you gave me.
> 
> Dean

Turned out his brother wasn’t always a jerk.

Next, he picked up Castiel’s letter. It read:

> Sam,
> 
> I apologize for our behavior last night. And for bogarting the kitchen. We were only thinking of ourselves. But after Dean sobered up, he convinced me to assist him in making you these sandwiches as a sort of peace offering. We made them with Dean’s own “special sauce.” I hope you enjoy eating these sandwiches as much as we enjoyed making them.
> 
> Your friend,
> 
> Castiel

“Special sauce.” Sam raised an eyebrow at Cas’s use of quotation marks, but decided not to overthink it. After all, Dean did know how to handle himself in the kitchen.


End file.
